Growing Pains
by rachelquinn
Summary: Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez are best friends.


A/N: So, I watched 'Frenemies' and something Santana said regarding Quinn struck a chord in me. If you've watched the episode, you should know what I'm talking about.

I tried a new writing style here. Sorry I've been so absent, but I'm still here, I promise.

- Theresa

* * *

**Growing Pains**

Summary: Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez are best friends.

* * *

Santana Lopez knows somebody itching for a fight when she sees it. Growing up around a group of nasty, rowdy cousins, she has learned many things: how to sit quietly and observe and how to _win_.

Obviously McKinley High is full of people desperate to prove themselves – now she just needs to make it so they want to prove themselves to _her_.

Her father has always told her that if people are desperate, then they're obviously not worth her time. It's not hard to believe and trust in everything her father says because he's well-respected. He commands attention – he doesn't crave it.

_("There's a difference," he tells her gruffly, before puffing once his cigar and patting her sharply on the shoulder. "Know it."_

_"Okay," she whispers.)_

Santana will grudgingly admit to herself that she _does _crave some attention – there's a strange power surge that rushes through her every time she forced somebody to relinquish a piece of their snack or the best swing in the playground.

That is, until blonde hair shines and blue eyes sparkle in her direction that she realizes that she would never find it in her to hurt this – this _angel_ who had just been about to be on the receiving end of one of her careless nudges.

(_"I'm Brittany," the angel whispers, but for all that a whisper is supposed to convey shyness, there is only an incomparable brightness._

_Santana did not know then that twelve year olds could experience something so beautiful in their life for having done so little.)_

That was then, and this is now: Santana files her nails, a habit she picked up over the summer holiday before school started up.

High school, to be exact.

She tries to act nonchalant – tries to command that power – but it's hard when she has Brittany excitedly babbling in her ear, leaning just a touch too close for a public setting.

The jocks and cheerleaders mill the halls aimlessly and the lesser beings (the geeks, the losers) slink along the lockers as if they're afraid to enter the sea of red, black, and white.

"Oh," Brittany says quietly as the seas somewhat part for a stranger within their small town. Santana takes pause. She knows everybody, so she thinks she would remember a girl who holds her head tall enough that she dwarves even the tallest and widest Neanderthal.

She is wearing a modest white dress that goes to her knees and a blue cardigan that perfectly complements her skin. There is no telling what goes through her face as she draws attention to her faster than Santana can blink. Heads swivel in leering appreciation and stunned awe.

What strikes Santana as odd is that this girl isn't even wearing a uniform of any kind.

It's then that she knows what she has to do.

"We should be her friend," Santana says decisively.

"Friend?" Brittany asks without a trace of skepticism or doubt. She beams down at Santana. "I'd like that."

"Yeah, Britt. Wanna go say hi?"

Before they can push off the lockers, there's a commotion in the middle of the hallway and a shriek that pierces Santana's skull. Everybody freezes – even new girl – and there's a heavy tension in the air.

Rachel Berry (they've known Rachel for years) is drenched, head-to-toe, in something morbidly red. Santana recognizes the plastic cup tossed at her feet as the Big Gulp from the nearby 7-11. Her eyes dart up to Dave Karofsky who seems to be toting his new letterman jacket around with pride and his stupid smirk appears to be now permanently plastered.

"Welcome to high school, _freak_," he says, low and threatening.

And – okay – Santana kind of thinks that Berry probably shouldn't be wearing clothes from her grandmother's closet, let alone ones that would be any pedophile's wet dream, but that's just something she doesn't feel like dealing with.

"Oh no," Brittany murmurs.

They don't need to do anything because new girl is already striding with purpose towards Rachel who kind of seems as frozen as the slushie and handing her the blue cardigan straight off her back. Santana mentally curses because - _what the fuck is she doing_ – she can't have a tainted member of school order on her side.

"That's really nice of her," Brittany muses. "Should we do something too?"

Santana swallows. "Later," she promises (lies).

Later becomes a confrontation with the new girl in the bathroom.

Santana wouldn't call it a confrontation, but there is some mild hostility from her end.

"I'm Santana Lopez," she says sharply. Crisply. New girl stops washing her hands and glances up at her through the mirror. Santana feels a surge of respect (and fear) rush through her at the lack of, well, anything in the girl's hazel eyes.

Silence, then-

"I'm Brittany!"

A crinkle of a smile appears - something that lessens the intensity in her hazel eyes – then it's gone. "I'm Quinn," she says. Soft. Demure.

Santana resists the urge to roll her eyes. God, the school was just going to eat her up.

Instead, she offers her hand and a hopefully charming smile.

Quinn craves power just as much as Santana does – maybe even more. It should frighten her, but she just entices Quinn with the right amount of temptation.

_("Hey. See that guy over there?"_

_Quinn seems to glance over guiltily, away from where she had been shooting furtive looks down the hall. She obliges and glances in the direction that Santana is pointing._

"_Yes," she nods. "Finn Hudson. He's in my class." She smiles a little. "Do you like him? He's a bit tall for you, isn't he?" Then she laughs to herself a little. Santana wonders who raised Quinn and gave her such a strange sense of humour._

"_No, I don't particularly care for him. Or any of the idiot guys here." She sees Quinn biting her lip and something flash through her eyes. "I – I guess Puck is okay, but…" she trails off, shaking her head. "Yeah, Finnocence has a gigantic crush on you. Did you know that?"_

"_Oh," Quinn says. Santana tries to smile.)_

Quinn skyrockets to the top of the pyramid, both physically and metaphorically. There was no doubt about it – the way she ate up the popularity as Santana presented it in the palm of her hand. Granted, Quinn was a leader in her own way, some of it beyond Santana's own leadership skills. She had grown to respect the girl and allowed her to take the forefront of their little group – _the unholy trinity_, Brittany had giggled – and soon they were _it_.

_("I think - I think you're my best friends," Quinn says quietly._

_"Ditto," Brittany chirps happily._

_Santana smiles and that's more than enough.)_

Santana has no qualms being Quinn's second-in-command. She enjoys doing the dirty work and insulting people as she goes, while the ice queen merely waves her hand and people part for her, as they always have.

"God, I hate her," Santana complains one day. She huffs and leans against Quinn's locker.

"Who?" Quinn asks, taking the bait. She casually puts her books away. Santana has learned that Quinn has a knack for making everything look easy.

"Berry, that's who."

"Rachel?" Quinn asks automatically.

"_Rachel_?" Santana mimics, tensing against the metal. She watches the way Quinn seems to coil, the tension building up first in her arms, then her shoulders and back.

She watches her perfectly crafted fortress fall with that one name.

"Okay," she says, with a nod.

Later, she's marching self-importantly down the crowded halls. "What are you doing?" Quinn asks hurriedly while attempting to keep up with her. "Why do you have that?" she asks, pointing at the slushie cup.

"It's tradition, Quinn," she says sharply.

"Nobody's been slushied since the first day," Quinn says quietly. "Rachel wa-"

"Rachel?" Santana asks sharply, no longer mimicking.

They pause in the middle of the hall - nobody gives them a second glance because they can do whatever they want.

Quinn glances away guiltily or something - Santana wouldn't know, she hasn't experienced guilt ever.

"I thought so," she says haughtily, continuing onwards.

It's a short walk to Rachel's locker. The shorter brunette glances up at them apprehensively, but when her eyes land on Quinn there's a sharp shift and suddenly she's smiling disarmingly.

"Oh, hello Quinn - and Santana - how-"

Santana doesn't hesitate and Rachel's suddenly gaping, her clothes clashing horribly with the purple slushie painting her face. She thinks Quinn makes some kind of sound, but she doesn't move.

"I - I -"

"Oh shut up, hobbit. Just reminding you of the social order around here."

(_"Quinn, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"_

_Quinn visibly flinches at the cuss, but she straightens and stares Santana down. "What are you talking about?"_

_"We have a role to play, Fabray," Santana says. "I can't always be looking out for you. Hold your own or you'll drown."_)

* * *

_As long as we've got each other there's no reason to fear_

* * *

Santana watches everything crumble at her feet.

It starts with Glee club and indirectly - or directly she's sure - with Rachel Berry.

(_"It's Rachel - she's here," Quinn slurs, clearly never having experienced being drunk before._

_Santana catches Puck leering at Quinn from across the room.)_

She can only cross her arms and glare disbelievingly as Quinn tearfully tells her that she believes herself to be pregnant.

_("Puck?" Quinn asks confusedly._

_"Yeah, Q. Go on.")_

She thinks something kind of hurts inside her chest as Quinn spills everything to her - from how she never wanted to date Finn, how she never wanted to sleep with Puck (she'll kill him and make him suffer as much as she hates herself).

But all she manages to say is a hoarse "Sylvester's gonna lose her _shit_, Q."

Quinn blanches.

The pregnancy escalates at alarming rates until Finn is raining blows down on Puck (_Good,_ Santana thinks) and then yelling at his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend. Santana's fists clench because of the way Quinn seems to shrink and retreat and _cry_. She barely unclenches her fists

What hurts the most is the absolutely destroyed look she gives Rachel Berry, who doesn't seem to know whether to look miserable or extremely miserable.

Quinn returns back into her modest dresses and complementary cardigans, this time with a wounded look and hunched over stance. Santana adds Quinn's parents to the hit list in the recesses of her mind.

Later on, she huffs as Quinn and _Mercedes_ bond over some kind of independence thing. Brittany merely smiles and leans her head on her shoulder, ever oblivious.

_("I know you miss her, Santana."_

_"I don't," she says._

_She almost goes straight to confession after that.)  
_

Quinn rebounds back from the pregnancy with a vengeance and thirst for blood. Santana can't really blame her - in fact, she almost welcomes the slap because it's the most contact she's had from Quinn in months. It's better than anything and it's not like she wasn't asking for it.

Brittany gazes at her sadly as she splashes her face with water. She grips the edge of the sink, even as Brittany sidles up to her and wraps her arms around her like a warm blanket. She sinks into the embrace ever so slightly.

She's grown to accept the closeness that she and Brittany share - something that she doesn't quite achieve with anybody else, just like she doesn't quite achieve the same level of camaraderie that she shares (shared) with Quinn with anybody else.

"I know you miss her, Santana," Brittany says softly, the same words she spoke months ago, yet they rattle Santana painfully.

She doesn't even bother denying it, just like she doesn't deny Brittany the kiss she places at the corner of her lips.

It helps a little - just as she kind of hopes it helps a little for Quinn when she sees her and Berry talking quietly.

The forlorn expression on Quinn's face Rachel gazes wistfully elsewhere is telling.

Santana can only bring herself to hurt Quinn more, with names and glares.

She misses her.

Sam Evans is yet another happy distraction, this time for both of them to share. Santana can feel the fake resentment just as she oozes her own false resentment. Brittany has detached herself, grown up or something, leaving Santana behind.

She would always leave Santana behind, but Santana's selfish enough to just _need _Brittany despite maybe Brittany being happier.

Quinn is the completely opposite; Quinn is somewhat of a masochist, with the way she gazes at Rachel Berry with eyes that should not leave the bedroom.

It takes one to know one, Santana supposes.

Spin the bottle brings reality crashing down heavier. Santana can only recognize and identify the jealousy in Quinn's eyes as the spin lands on Rachel again and again.

Santana glances away, fidgeting with her hands when Quinn does nothing but drown herself further in alcohol and solitude.

The pain doubles when Brittany kisses Sam. And Artie. People who aren't her.

She thinks that Quinn gives her a look akin to sympathy.

_("I know we've been distant," Quinn says, her slur not as strong as it once was. "But I want you to know it'll be okay, alright?")_

* * *

_The world will pass us by and never leave a tear_

* * *

"Fuck you, Q," Santana whispers, clutching at Quinn's lifeless hand.

There's so much white and the smell is disgusting.

Santana's father arrives to check on Quinn's vitals. He is silent and as commanding as ever, though the laugh lines lessen the severity visually. Santana knows better, however.

"She's never going to be the same," Santana says. She's not sure why she speaks - her father and her barely exchange words at home.

"She's broken," her father says gruffly. "But she'll heal. Broken is not dead. There's a difference," he tells her gruffly. He pats her shoulder, light and casual. "Know it."

"Okay," she whispers.

Her father leave and another force enters: Rachel Berry.

Santana says nothing because she hasn't quite decided if she's angry at Rachel, or just disappointed. Brittany isn't there to help her decide what her emotional switch should be, regarding the small brunette.

"How - how is she?"

Santana wants to say something acerbic, something grating because Rachel will always get on her very last nerve and the tiniest part of her blames Rachel.

Quinn's monitor beeps, indicating a steady heart and somebody alive and healing.

"She's alright," Santana whispers. That's all she can offer Rachel because she refuses to offer Quinn's good hand for her to hold. She selfishly keeps that much because she knows how much of Quinn she's lost to time, her own stupidity, and _Rachel _herself.

By the time graduation and Nationals roll around, Quinn is walking and if possible, even gayer for Rachel Berry than ever, which Santana refuses to let go.

"I can't believe you picked _the hobbit_," she snorts, while Brittany smiles indulgently and braids her hair. Santana hates having her hair teased and styled, but allows Brittany to do as she pleases, so long as she remains in contact with her.

There's a sort of peaceful smile on Quinn's face that lacks determination, pride and hesitancy. "She voted for me," she repeats.

"So gay."

Quinn laughs a little and balls up the shirt she had been folding. "Shut up, you bitch." She flings the shirt to punctuate her sentence, but Brittany sticks a hand out reflexively. Santana grins, grabbing the outstretched hand and kissing it. Quinn's expression softens and she sighs. "God, look at us."

"I know. We should all get a U-haul or something."

This time, Brittany pinches Santana's shoulder.

The breeze for once is cool and wafts through Quinn's open windows. Quinn plops down on her chair and immediately goes about replying to a novel of a text from Rachel undoubtedly, the smile never quite leaving her face.

Quinn's cheerio uniform is in an already dusty box. Santana thinks of her own, hanging in the closet, and Brittany's, haphazardly draped on Santana's computer chair.

_("Once upon a time, I was a cheerio," Quinn starts. "It was both the best and worst decision of my life and I have Santana Lopez to thank for nearly everything that has happened in my high school career. The bad and the good.")_

* * *

___Life would be so empty..._

* * *

I watched Glee...


End file.
